A Trip into the Past
by PhantasyRealms
Summary: Sam and Dean return to Palo Alto each revisiting a painful past while on the hunt for a predator who makes its own rules as it goes…


**A Trip into the Past**

**Sam and Dean return to Palo Alto each revisiting a painful past while on the hunt for a predator who makes its own rules as it goes…**

**-----Now------**

"Stop! Damn it Amber I said STOP!"

There was anger in his voice, but there was more than that. Fear and frustration bled into his words. Being upset with her wasn't that unusual, neither was the frustration, she seemed to be able to draw forth those emotions without trying. Feeling fear for her, now THAT was a new one and it was the fear that drove him.

He moved as quickly as the narrow tunnels allowed. The further underground they went the tighter the passageway became. His body wasn't designed to squeeze through unyielding quarters as easily as the slender woman ahead of him.

Dean cursed creatively as he ran into his second obstacle, the width of the tunnel shrinking yet again. It took him precious moments to contort his large frame though the passage, minutes he didn't have.

"AMBERLYN!"

His voice rang out in the darkness, returning to him again and again. The flashlight was almost becoming useless as he traversed the mud covered corridor. Dean grabbed his cell phone out of his jacket pocket on the first ring.

"What do you have?" He barked, as his eyes restlessly peered through the darkness. A low, growl emanated from him when the flashlight's beam flickered then faded.

"It's a trap! Get out of there Dean! Now!" Sam yelled into the phone. "Dean! Dean?!?"

**-Five Weeks Earlier -**

_Stanford University 10:45 PM_

"Turn off the light dude!"

"I can't see if…"

"Turn it off!"

The conversation began in low whispered hisses as the freshmen darted across the large sprawling campus. Their goal, the Cantor Art Center, where a new collection of objects from the Arabia had just arrived, a three month display, which would open in just two weeks.

It was that time of year, where pledges were given, challenges to prove their worth to the fraternity they hoped to join. In other words it was 'hazing time.' The three young men had been given a very simple task, break into the museum and photograph three specific items. A sword, a lamp and a rug.

"Did you remember the camera?"

"What type of question is that, of COURSE I remembered the camera!"

"Shhh! Would you two shut up?!"

Tom was already beginning to wonder if all this was worth it, Jerry and Steve put together had the IQ of turnips, in his humble opinion of course. If Phi Kappa Psi accepted them, he figured they were either, one: hard up or two: they two had financial influence.

Fortunately for Tom, he had a friend who worked at the Center. Thus 'breaking' in was going to be a piece of cake, at least that was the plan. They slipped through the shadows one at a time dashing towards the building. Steve went first, quickly followed by Jerry. Tom waited until both were plastered against the cold concrete wall before making his move. The back door opened as he hit the wall next to Steve. With a cocky grin he moved around the two other pledges and entered the museum first.

"You have ten minuets man. The guards will be back by then. Hurry." Came the hissed whisper from his friend as he looked around nervously while Steve and Jerry slipped inside, Jerry pulling out the camera and nodding.

"Which way?"

"Left, left then right, first room, the exhibition is there The alarm is off, but I can't leave it that way long….."

Tom was already off leading the way before his friend finished speaking. Artifacts from Arabia , highly publicized, the lore of the Arabian Nights on display.

As quietly as they could, they entered the exhibition room. Each headed in a different direction, quickly scouring the items arranged behind glass cases, as well as on more open display for the ones they had been sent to find.

Fabrics, rugs, pottery, even the weapons were tastefully arranged. Triumphantly Tom drew closer to an Arabian sword lying upon a black velvet cloth. It was undeniably fascinating. The curve of the weapon, the way it shone brightly in the dark room.

He blinked and frowned. His flashlight was pointed down, and there wasn't any light source close enough to create the gleam reflecting off the weapon. A cold eerie breeze flowed over him and he jumped and turned. There was nothing, in fact the room was quiet, too quiet.

"Steve?" He whispered. "Jerry?"

Silence met him.

Tom's heart skipped a beat. Now wasn't the time for them to play a prank. Their time was short. "Damn idiots." He grumbled as he back tracked. He had found his item, and need the camera for a picture. "Jerry?" He hissed again.

The pledge couldn't say what it was that had him freezing. Every hair on the back of his neck and arms stood on end. Fear filled him, unreasonable, unexplainable fear along with the need to run. Tom slowly turned, his flashlight coming up as the sword came down. It was the last thing he saw before his head rolled under then display behind him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Small Café in East Texas._

"It says here the next showing is at Stanford University, Cantor Art Center, October 16 to December 22."

Dean looked up from the article he had been reading out loud in time to catch Sam's expression. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed on, when his brother didn't respond.

"It has to be a cursed object. The decapitations began at the first opening in New York almost a year ago, from there Pennsylvania, Texas, California…" Hazel eyes scanned his brother's face noting the deliberate blank expression for what it was.

"You wanna look for something else?" Dean asked softly.

Sam's head jerked back as a frown grew on his forehead. "No." He replied after a moment. "Of course not."

An exasperated sigh fell from Dean's lips as he leaned back in the booth. His eyes pinned Sam where he sat, just 'that' look was all it took.

"What?!" Sam said defensively.

'Come on Sammy, I know going to Stanford is the last thing you …"

"No Dean you don't' know that." The younger Winchester interrupted his brother. Sam sighed and ran his long fingers though his hair then shook his head. "Yeah, its…its hard, but we can't let the killings continue. If Stafford is where ..Whatever this thing is at…" He shrugged as he reached for the paper, as he pushed the laptop to one side.

Dean picked up his cooling cup of coffee and took a sip, his own thoughts carefully hidden from his all to observant brother.

"Looks like we should hook up with this Dr, AL Smith." Sam muttered as he tapped an index finger on the paper. "Says here he is a professor of forensic science, ex- FBI profiler, who is helping out on the investigation…"

Dean did his damnest not to squirm, unfortunately he didn't quite pull it off. Sam looked up and caught his uneasy movement.

"What?"

"Nothin." Dean muttered bringing the coffee back up to his lips. Sam stared hard at his brother his head tilted for a moment then said slowly. "You know him…this Dr."

"Her."

"Excuse me?"

"AmberLyn Smith. Her.." Dean said going for his most nonchalant and innocent expression.

Sam shook his head and flopped back in his seat. "Is there ANY woman out there you DON'T …."

"It wasn't like that!" Dean growled as he set his cup down with a sharp click. "I met her through Dad."

"Dad?" Sam blinked taken aback.

Dean was no longer paying attention; he stood and tossed a few dollars on the table then grabbed his jacket. "Shag it Sammy, I want to get there before next week."


End file.
